Category Archives: suffering and oppression

Click here if you didn’t read Part OneDesmond Island0800hrs
‘Get some strong sticks’ Carl requested
‘Strong…? Are those not strong?’
‘Strong enough to burrow the soil’
‘Okay’ Liz responded as she bent plucking and picking the fallen rods of firewood. She was humming her favorite song.
Carl was digging the graves of their two sons, Greg and Colly. They had only noticed by the lockets on their necks they had bought during birthdays. Liz was busy fetching sticks to excavate the soil. They were no ‘jembes’ or ‘pangas’ around.
After some hours the grave was ready. It was just a minimal trench that would fit the remains of the two sons. As they carried the sooty-grotesque bodies, tears from Liz eyes dripped.
‘Hold the lower part of the limbs as I hold this upper side.’ Carl said as he held the fluffy part of the head.
As they reached the grave like structure, Carl positioned the head down slowly and gazed at Liz.
‘Put it down slowly’
They buried their sons in the island. They pushed the soil back to the grave. They lay wild flowers which Liz had plucked from a certain bush. She sat on a certain granitic rock and stared at Carl. She remembered of her huge house in Washington D.C. where there were teeming city streets, glass skyscrapers, glitters and glitz and also the luxurious landscapes.
‘Was life made to be like this? We have lost our sons. They are barely 16yrs. What a life?’ Liz questioned as she gazed above.
‘Problems come in life Liz. This one was unexpected. You should even thank God for saving your life. You are alive and kicking.’ Carl responded
‘Its…’Liz was cut short
‘That doesn’t mean am not sobbing the death of our sons. I’m also grieving their loss’ he said as he squatted on the grassy area.
‘Carl, why aren’t you sad, I see you smiling; no sad face; is there something you are keeping behind my ass? Liz asked.
‘Honey, men are always jovial; by the way do you see men crying in burial?’
‘To some extent, I don’t. But don’t you feel pain for your own flesh and blood? Did their demise mean anything to you?’ Liz questioned holding her chin.
‘As a man, I feel it in my heart, but I can’t bear showing it physically like you do. Just don’t be angst-ridden.’ He responded

I screamed soo loudly as I bow down my head in a bid to curb the pain inflicted on my fingers. The pain was too much to bear. I could feel the cartilage and collateral ligaments of my knee dancing to the excruciating pain forcing me to stay on the grimy floor as I writhed as a dying snake. My eyes were fixed on my broken finger as I visualized a white colored bone on it. It was broken. I mean, my finger was broken and it had exposed even the phalanges. I kept on wailing at the top of my voice until there was no sound coming from my mouth again. All my mouth and my facial muscles did were look like I was wailing but unfortunately, no sound could manage to come out.

‘My God!’ I screamed. What had he turned to? I mean, I thought Boyka was the one who had inscribed this utmost Satanism in him. At this moment, I had no doubt he was the real ‘proprietor’. I gazed at him. I was still crying at the top of my voice as I slowly writhed away from him. I could not even walk; I walked on my knees just like a toddler as I calculated to what extent I was to the door. All I wanted for now was to escape the whole mess that I had got myself into.

He slowly came forward and sat on his desk. He sat right on the place he had cut my finger on. To be much more vivid, his buttock had sat on my blood. I pushed myself quickly towards the corner near the door. I now feared him for sure. He was not going to help me at any cost. My heart was trembling so hard such that I could feel it beating. I gazed at him. I felt so bad for having assisted him get out of the club. This is what it cost me. To start with, I was naked, I hadn’t eaten a thing, I was smelling my own feaces , I had been roughed up, I had almost been raped and lastly, I had lost a finger. All this because of helping someone who I thought was my to-be boyfriend get home safely.

Karen had been kidnapped. Her three friends Clare, Kate and Sharon have vowed to rescue her from the hands of the cruel bastards who took advantage of her lucrative body. The tri-squad could not even try to adjust their senses to imagine what could be happening to her. All they hoped for was for her to be alive and kicking. They had to plan for the rescue mission.

That night, they did not report to their respective homes. Clare, Kate and Sharon had a plan to engage in some dirty duties done by the call girls hoping they would bore fruits in rescuing their friend Karen. A friend of Clare by name Jake had agreed to harbor them in his vicinity as they made plans on how they would execute their plan. They drove to Jake’s house and after they had chitchat in this and that, they sat on the circular lighted-gazebo, which was built architecturally to suit the midnight meat wolfers’. Jake offered to help them in their plans but they turned down his offer at first.

‘We will do it our way’, Clare Responded. ‘This is our mission remember?’ she squinted her left eye as she gave him a soundly peck. Jake gazed at her for some time before he went ahead to prepare a balefire that would keep the warm for the night. The time was at 8pm. Darkness had enveloped the entire of the horizon. The sky was full of stars; both the dimming and the shinning ones. The crickets and frogs could be heard on the outside as they made their noises. The cool breeze would sweep the air around them occasionally making the whole humidity optimum for human survival. It was beautiful. They slowly converged at the balefire and commenced the plan.

After about 15 minutes, they all rose from the wooden seats and each of them rushed in different routes around the homestead. Each got back with some weird looking club attire. The ladies were all glam. You would confuse them with those brothel ladies who wear to impress anyone who got the cash to squander on them as they roughly devour them. Their current look would liquefy the heart that those shy men hold deep in their inner spirit. Sharon, though looking like she was in her birth-suit, did not like it. She felt naked. she kept looking at herself plastering that woebegone impression on her face. Her thighs had never been exposed like that publicly before.

This article revolves around the holistic management of victims/survivors of sexual violence in the Kenyan region. This encompasses all the aspects of life that in the long run reduces the complications of sexual violence if at all they are followed to the latter. In most cases, management of sexual violence for survivors in Kenya is done in an atomistic way such that the victim doesn’t achieve complete liberty from the sexual violence episode. This culminates to later psychological, physical, mental and emotional distress that disturbs the victims. To sum up the introduction, the male child has being neglected when it comes to sexual assaults management. When the term sexual violence hits the headlines, all eyes turn on the girl child manipulation rather than focusing also on the boys who are assaulted. Most of the boys/men who are affected end up shying away from opening up to people about the assault. They face challenging psychological trauma because of the societal and community attitudes about men and their masculinity.

DEFINATION OF TERMS

Multi-sectorial management–when you manage something or a situation using the multi-sectorial management, you encompass and counter the problem in a holistic way such that you cater for all the possible outcomes that could come with it. Different disciplines interact to facilitate the positive recovery of a certain victim.

Sexual Violence – sexual act committed against someone without their consent or without them freely getting submissive to the act. It includes accomplished or attempted penetration of a victim. Examples of sexual violence include:-

Date rape

Drug induced /alcohol facilitated

Non-physically forced sexual act in which happens after a person has been verbally pressured or by methods of intimidation without their consent

Spousal rape

Statutory rape

Sexual abuse with people with disability

Survivors of sexual violence – these are the victims who have survived accomplished or attempted sexual violence. They are often psychologically unprivileged.

Gender Based Violence (GBV)–this is any type of cruelty directed or targeted against at individuals or groups on basis of their gender. According to research, a significant number of women will at some point in their life experience gender based violence. However, the number of boys/men who experience GBV is unknown.

MULTISECTORIAL APPROACH IN MANAGEMENT OF SURVIVORS OF SEXUAL VIOLENCE

In the scaling up of multi-sectorial approaches to management of survivors of sexual violence, we take a look at the various sectors or disciplines that are responsible for taking over the mandate to assist the survivors of sexual violence. The disciplines involved in the multi-sectorial management of survivors of sexual violence include:-

Health Management

Psychosocial Management

Security Management of the victim.

Legal /Justice Management of the victim

The collaboration of this disciplines facilitates quick recovery and positive psychological state of the victims. In case any of the disciplines is omitted, the chances of recovery fully from the ordeal could complicate in the future or culminate to worse situations for the individual.

At the sides of the road, they crawl using their ischemic worn out palms and semi-gangrenous knees gradually as they look upon the riders of cars and those walking with a pair of blessed legs. Others watch from their wheelchairs as they wave to at least get something for the day from you who sometimes dismiss them as pretenders.

‘wachana na uyo anajifanya. Io mguu amekunja tu!’ (Leave that begging man alone, he has just coiled his leg so we give him money)that is how they say.

Their eyes depicting the kind of suffering they have endured all through their entire life.Some are children aged between 6yrs to 14yrs, young adolescents and the aged who should be taken care by their children and grandchildren. Why abandon your parents and grandparents who survived on ‘weaving baskets and selling soap stones’ for you to live that kind of posh life in the city? Why don’t we have that heart to care for our parents despite everything they have done for us? They brought us into this world. Young girls begging on the roads are raped repeatedly, men sodomized day in day out, and nobody raises an alarm nor cares about whatever happens to them. Haven’t we heard enough stories?

There is something that has been happening in secret that should be brought out to light. There are certain people who are taking them for a ‘bad ride’. There are certain people making the disabled people feel the pain of whom they are. Some even wish they could be left alone to die than continue suffering in the places they are in. Some have cried until they cannot do it anymore. Life has become a misery to many of the disabled people in town.

Welcome to the extra-regurgitated story that falls on deaf ears of many who have the insatiable taste for unseen rewards in abroad. These ‘Thomases’ only believe when they go there and are deported back with ‘painful scars that sometimes never heal’.

Wait, the heading itself is ironical and full of sarcasm if stated. That is what those planning on taking a flight there after paying a hefty fee for their death should come into terms with. They are lured by promises of posh jobs with big salaries.

How many women have come back and explained exclusively the horrors and atrocities that they met there? How many have been flown back to our country as rotting corpses? How many go there and they disappear under mysterious circumstances? Why do we still want to go there to look for jobs? Meager jobs that lead to many of our young girls and women being overused in useless ‘maid’ jobs under very excruciating conditions. When asked, they say that some of the ladies they know have made it there and are getting paid ‘good money’. Some get good employers while some; in fact get employers who are equivalent to or rougher than ‘beasts’.

Its 5 am on a Wednesday morning; the air is quite wet and it is drizzling lightly. The sky is a bit dark with the stars disappearing gradually as the dawn dawns. The path is muddy due to last night’s heavy downpour. Puddles and murky pools of water are all over the façade of the ground.

Mr. Jaoko has just left the bar towards home. If you are a pseudo-medical analyst, his ataxic weak gait and diplopic sleepy eyes can give you an estimate of the alcohol-dosage he devoured.Alcohol was his dearest friend.He had clung to it like vines on a rock wall.The insensate personality in him kept predominating 100% as he scuttled home. The humid, damp, clammy climate reduced Mr. Jaoko to a limp wet rag.

After attaining a certain age in this tradition, Asha was scheduled to undergo the ‘cut’ or as the say Female Genital Mutilation (FGM). It was mandatory. Failure to go would pronounce you an outcast of the society and nobody would allow you to their vicinities. She took her girth, faced the bull by its horns, and underwent the painful procedure. Only a small opening was left for excretion of liquid matter and painful bleeding sutures that made her persevere through a painful month. She almost died of excessive blood loss. They say by circumcising ladies, they preserve them to be married off as virgins. Men in the community value chastity and the reason behind the Cut. Adding on to that, after FGM Asha was to be married off to a ‘potential husband’ who she had never seen. These things happened in a strike of lightening.

sad sad and that bad life which no one deserves

The elders converged to a meeting and discussed about this girl called Asha. She was young but she seemed grown.

help and feel good enough to do it. life is really cutting off on these lonely hungry children of the poor parents

Throngs of white-washed faced children, with annoying streaks of faded urine plastered on their calf muscles. They are marauding the slum area playing around with puddles and discolored dirty-looking streams of water which occasionally form when it happens to rain. Looking from the horizon, the ramshackle settlements are closely built together in a bid to support each other. Theoretically, in any case one of the houses at the end fall, the entire row collapses with a thud! Walking in between the crowded aisles and cramped alleyways, all kinds of business men and woman have displayed their merchandise including food products on the walking pathways just above freely running dirty streams. This doesn’t make the slum people feel a bit nervous buying such products but it’s a norm and that’s what they live on. On the back of houses and on mountains of garbage, weak-looking frail mangy dogs scamper everywhere around the place. This is a place where plain Ugali (African Cake) is the only affordable staple food from January 1st to December 31st. as a reader, it’s hard to understand the kind of Economic strains some people go through. Where the residents wash their faces with puddles of water or streams that form whenever it rains. In this settlement, crime happens and death goes unnoticed. In the stalls, alcohol is cheaper to purchase than food thus most tend to stay on alcohol claiming that it takes away the pain of hunger. Where parents force their children to prostitution to at least bring food on the table. In such places, sex is the main form of entertainment between couples such that they have a number of uncountable children of which they can’t manage. This is the daily living of almost half of the world’s population.

She kept banging the doors and making those grunting noises to be released by the man who had termed himself as ‘the collector’. She couldn’t imagine what was about to happen to her. Worse thoughts of rape and torture rushed through her mind as she continued kicking her legs on the dashboard and twisting her neck in that torticollis-like way in a bid to free herself. The driver stopped the vehicle at a certain rather dark place where trees had bend over covering the road as if bowing down in prayer. He opened the door and walked out towards the side of the lady and opened the front door. Even before she asked anything, she received blows and abuses hurled furiously against her. The guy pulled her outside in the dark and slapped her thighs as he made sure he curbed her mouth fully to succumb her screams to the depth of silent moans.

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At exactly 11pm, there was a knock at the lorry’s driver door. It was not a single knock but a persistent knock. Issa slowly got up from his limbo. He was a bit conscious. He unnoticeably unlocked the door and opened it. Alas! Before him was a young lady, maybe 18 who was dressed in a brown pullover and black lingerie. She had donned white sport shoes and black stockings. Her left hand was holding the door open while her right hand was already exploring the truck’s seats. She twitched and writhed on her standing position as she lifted her left leg onto the truck’s entrance.

Carl and Liz were beside each other; cuddling as Liz lay his head on Carl’s shoulders. They had no clothes.
‘I’m starving’, Carl hungrily spurted out
‘Same applies to me’ she responded
‘Ladies job in the African world was to fetch food, so walk out’ Carl requested
‘Mmm…’ she chuckled. ‘Men’s job is to fetch firewood, so get up’ Liz jeered at Carl as she pulled him from his seated position on the rock. They all set out to look for the preferred items. Carl went around gathering small sticks and kept them in an arranged manner. Before he was done, he spotted something unique and went for it. It was a tattered piece of magazine and a human premolar tooth beside it. He was shocked by the size of the premolar tooth. It wasn’t normal.
He reported back to the area they had agreed to light the fire. There was an aroma of something cooking.

The plane tilted the cockpit ramming the air downwards at a terrific speed. Greg and Colly were just but crying clung to their mother’s waist. Its velocity as it propelled downwards increased as oxygen supply became insufficient. Some people fainted as others plummeted downwards hitting the door heading to the cockpit. One of the short windows cracked open forcing the other windows to crack and break open at the climax. A blustery of wind and the pressure the plane had exerted made Carl and his wife Liz among other passengers, who were standing, be blown out through the open door. Colly and Greg were left inside the plane trying to open their seatbelts to follow suit of their parents. It was too late for that.

She opened her eyes semi full. As she tried to open them well to visualise me. She rubbed her eyes using her left hand and gazed at me more closely.

“Hey. You got up to early.” she said as she spread her legs towards the bottom of the bed and slept in supine position.

“Good Morning.” I said as I came closer and kissed her lips. She was warm. We looked at each other and smiled today. We knew what we expected today.

She lifted the blankets exposing her au natural body and directed my right hand towards her belly. She looked at me and smiled. She was 8 months and some weeks pregnant. She hadn’t hit the 9 month yet. Her belly wasn’t that soo big as the once we have been viewing on the Web. I remember the Nurse Practitioner telling us that for a first time woman (primigravida), the uterus has a good tone and it’s not stretched thus it’s hard for someone to notice their pregnancy not until they are almost on their term dates.

We looked at the belly together as we noticed some movements on her belly.

“oh, she moved. Did you see that? ”

” Yeah. I saw that. That is wonderful.” I said as I was soo pleased.

“what did you think it is? A boy or girl? “.

” I don’t know. But I am ready for anything that God gives us.” I said as I encouraged her to get out of the bed.

He stopped gazing at the machine and directed his eyes towards me. He walked towards me, lifted me up, and made me sit on his hands as I directed my legs around his waist. He forcefully kissed my dry cracked lips for some time before applying some lube (his saliva) on them. He spread his fingers across my bum and grasped me more tightly. I wasn’t responding in any way to what he was trying to communicate. I had no guts. I had lost the interest. He put his head on the right side of my head and kissed my sensitive neck as my nuchal veins pulsated on his lips. He started kissing my neck continuously as he coasted downwards towards my cleavage area. I couldn’t allow him to go past that. I threw myself from him and slapped him severally on his head. Instead of him feeling the pain, I could feel intense pain on my palms after slapping him.

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We Are Medical Students at The University Of Nairobi. We Have Been Endowed With Writing Talents That We Confabulate During Our Free time. This Is Our Writing Platform. Enjoy Yourself Dear Readers.We Love Our Dear Readers. You Inspire Us. We will always keep you updated with interesting articles. By Ken And Speranza